Back in the Kitchen (and behind the computer).

I’m so proud of my friend Amy.

She just started writing a bi-weekly column for The Deseret News about trying to discovering her grandmother through family history and cooking. I read her first essay and I cried.

I was touched. Not just by her wonderful writing, but because she’s actually doing it. Writing her special project.

Reading her words was like a jab to my heart, one so piercing it woke me up. My dear friend Amy is accomplishing what I’ve been fumbling around to do for so many years now. Amy is writing her story and getting it published. Where I am in this process?

I’ll tell you where. Somewhere deep in the trenches of motherhood. I’m caught in the gray haze of sleep deprivation and the daily 12 p.m. monotony of peanut butter sandwiches. Some days it seems like I am forever lost in the war zone of children fighting and babies screaming.

Needless to say, I haven’t been writing. And I haven’t been happy.

Until I read Amy’s essay, I was thinking about giving up on this project. I am everyday exhausted from the daily nuances of child rearing. I don’t care what some people say, three kids is no easier than two.

This cooking/writing endeavor that has previously given me so much purpose before, has lately gone lackluster. I feel like I have lost my voice. As tired and strained as it is, the only ones who truly hear it are my children. (And boy. They must really like to hear me repeat myself.)

Do I continue to try and cook and write and find my mother in me? Or do I simply surrender to the happy chaos of motherhood as I know it already?

When I read Amy’s recent column, something burned within. It sparked a flame I thought died out months ago.

I knew my answer. The fire is still there.

I want to get back to writing my stories of my mom. Get back to the days where cooking is fun. Where I can recreate a dish, a memory, a moment, and feel like I am completing Mom’s wish again. Write down her recipes, write down my memories of her.

Amy has her own journey, and I have mine. I am so thrilled for my friend and the chance she has to connect with a loved one long gone. I am so excited for this path she has taken.

When I read Amy’s article, I also thought of my little girl. The one I first gave up working at a newspaper for. Just like Amy, my girl will only have stories of her grandmother to know her by. She will never physically cook with her in the kitchen. My mom will never teach her granddaughter how to slice vegetables the Asian way, or sit next to her at the table as they wrap spring rolls together.

But my little girl will have my stories. She’ll have my renditions of my mother’s food and memories behind the stove.

This is reason to write — and cook — again.

Thank you, Amy.

Tagged as: family